The Sorrows of Young Lilthienna
by Emberike
Summary: Being the daughter of a psychopathic Elven Lord is horrible, even if you have a host of Eagles at your service. But change is coming to Rivendell, and Lilthienna could never have imagined what those sunny August days would bring. Pre-FOTR. Featuring Rivendell, Mirkwood and Lórien Elves, Eagles, Wizards, Men, Orcs, Rings of Power, foul creatures of old, and haiku.


**Author's Notes: I admit it. I have a huge weakness for clichés. And since it's been something like three years since I last published a fanfic (don't ask, I deleted it way back), I figured it's time again. Criticism is welcome, since I feel pretty rusty. I can't say how often this will be updated, or how long it will be, but there are four more chapters finished as I write, so no year-long waiting at least.**

_Rivendell, August T. A. 3015_

Her amber tresses, resembling liquid fire, reflected the sunlight and created shimmering rainbows in the dewdrops on the leaves of the trees surrounding her. Her emerald dress pooled gently around her lithe form, without breaking even the most slender blade of grass that covered the ground of the glade she, for the time being, had chosen to settle herself in. Her long-limbed figure was gracefully outlined under the glistening fabric, but the extent of her tallness could not be discerned, for she had chosen to rest sitting on her knees. Slowly she extended a soft, white, marble-like hand and plucked one single flower, which gladly traded the rest of its meager life for the utmost joy of being held between such fingers. She turned her eyes, like bottomless pools of softly swirling finest quality scotch, to the quavering daffodil in her hand. A lonely tear escaped her eyelashes; their thickness far greater than Hugh Jackman's hair's, and all the dewdrops bowed their heads in awe for their newborn peer that far exceeded themselves in perfection. She sighed. The wind paused its blowing to investigate the reason for her sadness and everyone of Manwe's eagles, from the oldest to the youngest, gathered above the glade ready to tear apart the villain that obviously had to be there.

"Woe me," she said aloud with another heavenly sigh. "Woe me, for I am not pretty."

Her silken forehead suddenly creased with distress and from her fathomless eyes sprung marvelous shining fountains of crystal tears. She covered her symmetric oval face with her hands and leaned forward until the back of her hands kissed the forest floor. Her golden locks spread softly around her head like the tentacles of a dead octopus washed up on the shore.

Soaring on the skies far above, the Eagles' piercing eyes penetrated all the layers of air between them and the glade, and they gasped in horror.

"She cries!" they all exclaimed. As if one they looked to their king. "What shall we do?"

Gwaihir let the silence speak for a moment. Then he said: "We cannot let this madness continue. We must speak with the Lady at once."

"But who will go?" one of the younger Eagles asked, her voice close to breaking after witnessing such a devastating scene.

"I am her Guardian Eagle," Landroval proclaimed, trying to turn so that he could admire the golden chain, sign of his position, around his right foot. In the process he nearly lost the air under his wings, tumbled down, and smote his own ruin on the mountainside. "By everything that is right in the world it should be me who makes haste to Lothlórien," he said when he had majestically regained his balance.

"Nothing is right in the world," Meneldor sadly observed, turning his gaze to the east. "All that has been, and all that now is, will come to…"

Gwaihir hit him in the head with the knuckle of his wing. "Everyone will go. So says the King. Nothing is more important to us Eagles than the happiness and well-being of our most beloved Lilthienna, who in this very moment sheds precious tears!" And thus the entire population of the Great Eagles of Middle-Earth departed swiftly with fearsome eagle-like cries to Lórien to inform the Lady Galadriel of the dreadful turn of events in Imladris.


End file.
